


frozen time

by Icestorm238



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Torna: The Golden Country DLC, plus major spoilers for the ending of that dlc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 23:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16106216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icestorm238/pseuds/Icestorm238
Summary: "Stop watching," Mythra pleads."It's not the same," Pyra murmurs back.Pyra watches the death of the titan inside Uraya. It brings up bad memories.





	frozen time

**Author's Note:**

> The DLC really saved Pyra and Mythra's characters for me, and when replaying the main game all I could think about during this scene in Uraya was that Pyra was remembering the fall of Torna.

The titan’s form flickers, body dissipating into ether that rises into the mist of the Urayan morning. The heavy footfalls of Rex, Vandham and the others as they turn to head back to Garfont seem distant to Pyra as she stares at the rapidly-fading corpse.

_ Stop watching, _ Mythra pleads, her voice echoing from the deep recess she has locked herself away in, one she rarely crawls back out of.

_ It’s not the same, _ Pyra murmurs back.

Their shared mind twists it anyway.

She can almost see the clouds part as the titan falls - a long, torturous fall that lasts both an eternity and a millisecond as it sinks and sinks and sinks. Its mournful cry seems to resound throughout the cavernous Uraya, expressing its pain and sorrow as it dies from a million tiny cuts and burns. If she squints - or maybe the blurriness of her vision is the cause - then glowing pink-gold accents seem to radiate from its appendages, glorious in its splendour even as its life fades.

This titan isn’t Torna, isn’t even comparable to the magnificent titan she had destroyed in her hate, but it drags up the painful memories all the same.

Pyra is afraid to tear her gaze away, unable to face the deathly still Gormotti boy she knows is lying motionless just to her right, cradled in the arms of the child that has grown to despise her, the Gormotti boy that has been dead for five centuries but feels, to her, like five measly weeks, the Gormotti boy she had loved like a brother.

The Gormotti boy she had failed.

_ It wasn’t you, _ Mythra says.  _ You don’t need to carry my guilt. _

Mythra rarely speaks to her, preferring to remain in her self-inflicted isolation, but she always likes to insist upon Pyra’s innocence. It’s nice, if futile of her.

_ I am merely an extension of you, _ she replies softly, speaking words she’s spoken countless times by now.  _ It may not have been me, but I remember it like I was there. I feel what you felt. Your pain is mine, and your guilt is my burden to shoulder too. _

It hasn’t been long for them - five hundred years passes in the blink of an eye when you spend the majority of it asleep - but the fall of Torna is a harsh imprint on their memories, one that Pyra is certain will never diminish no matter how much time passes, no matter how much they forget.

They will never forget Torna.

They will never forget Milton.

They will never forget Hugo, whose life they indirectly stole with their carelessness. They will never forget Addam, who they know suffered under the burden of a failure that wasn’t his. They will never forget all the Tornans who deserved full and happy lives, only the meet their deaths at the soiled hands of their supposed saviour.

There was some twisted irony in that.

“Pyra,” a voice cuts through her thoughts, “you comin’?”

She feels Mythra’s presence withdraw back to her self-made prison as Pyra jerks out of their memories, twisting to face not a bloody Gormotti boy but a warm Gormotti girl, her head tilted slightly in a concerned manner so similar to  _ his _ that her chest aches.

She smiles weakly at Nia in a mockery of stability and ambivalence. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

The others have also stopped, waiting. Vandham is gripping the dull core crystal of the monster’s Blade tight in one fist, Roc hovering over his shoulder as always. Tora and Poppi are bouncing in restless unison beside them. Pinned to Nia’s side is Dromarch, watching her with narrowed eyes, and Pyra is struck by the notion that he may suspect the morbid direction of her thoughts. Azurda, too, is watching her intently. Rex - her Rex, her Driver, his eager golden eyes following her form with both concern and his signature friendliness, has turned to fully face her, and he holds a hand out to her invitingly.

Pyra remembers the words of one she’d also lost, one she thinks she could regain if only she knew how, whispering  _ your real affinity lies in the future  _ as she frowns at him, confused at the direction the conversation has taken.

She remembers the glimpses of that future she’d had while blinded with rage, glimpses of Rex that had helped her realise, through the murky haze of anger and terror, that Jin had been right, and that she wanted so desperately to  _ live _ so that she could meet the one destined for her.

Pyra remembers what she could never forget, and reaches to take Rex’s hand.


End file.
